


A Fresh Start

by WritLarge



Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: F/M, John prepares, Pre-John Wick (2014)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:42:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21843880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritLarge/pseuds/WritLarge
Summary: It was something Marcus has suggested when John had said his goodbyes. You can never be too careful, he’d said, never know who might stab you in the back. Always have an out.He’s retired. His remaining accounts firmly closed, debts settled.Still.
Relationships: Aurelio & John Wick, Helen Wick/John Wick
Comments: 3
Kudos: 49
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	A Fresh Start

**Author's Note:**

  * For [karanguni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/karanguni/gifts).



> Took this suggestion from your letter: John civilian-proofing his lifestyle as he settles into retirement: all the things he has to clean up/bury under cement/hide in the walls. Him and his backup plans.
> 
> I hope you like it!

They buy the house as a fresh start. 

It’s gorgeous. All clean lines and airy views. Marble. Designer tile. And white. Everywhere there’s white.

But Helen loves it and John loves that Helen loves it, so that’s fine.

They don’t move in right away, however. John’s free and clear after his last job for Viggo, but he knows better than to trust in that lasting. He’d rather be prepared. Things happen.

After they close the purchase, Helen goes away for three weeks on a photoshoot. A high publicity job. John generally avoids those. Too many other cameras and questions. Helen will be fine without him, surrounded by busy people, and no one was interested in her. Not now.

So he has some time to settle into the house before the gardening and housekeeping services begin. Find its nooks, note its weaknesses. The windows, wide panes of unfogged glass, are going to take some getting used to. 

He clears out his local stashes, save for the one with the Pawnbroker. The ones abroad he leaves be. London and Tokyo had been checked and stocked within the last six months, though the one he’d left in Bogotá had been gathering dust for years. No point in worrying about other destinations now. He’d rarely set foot in Africa. Didn’t have the time to learn the language or figure out how to fit in. Never had a job that required it. John wasn’t exactly a fan of the heat, either.

He did make a point of opening an account outside the usual networks in Berlin, and then another in Vancouver when he’d travelled with Helen. It was something Marcus has suggested when John had said his goodbyes. You can never be too careful, he’d said, never know who might stab you in the back. Always have an out.

He’s retired. His remaining accounts firmly closed, debts settled. 

Still.

John uses a wooden trunk and packs it carefully. Into the bottom tray goes his two CA-415s and a KSG shotgun. The top trays stack neatly, side by side, with custom cut foam inserts. Coins fill one half. If he ever has reason to open this up again once he’s done, he’ll need every one of them. The other fits two sets of pistols, Glock 26s and HK P30Ls, with extra magazines for each. Four smoke grenades and a long knife finish the set. The rest of his arsenal he’d sold, except for a few pieces he’d gifted to Marcus.

Closing the lid, John sits back on his heels. He’ll find room in the back of a closet somewhere for his vest and holsters. Maybe a small knife. But with other people in and out of the house, the trunk would need to be hidden more securely.

When they’d first toured the house, Helen had admired the artificial pond. She loved water. Even rain. So John has no intention of disturbing that space. The tennis court that they’ll never use is a poor choice as well. Disturbing it will be too obvious. No, it’ll have to be the basement. Helen is determined to give it to him anyway.

Walking down the stairs, he surveys the space. It’s empty. There are a couple small windows up by the ceiling but otherwise, the walls are blank. The concrete floor is bare. John could hide the case a few different ways, but if he’s honest with himself, he would rather have it sealed away from both discovery and temptation. He leaves the trunk in a corner and goes to the hardware store.

It takes two days to break the floor, conceal the trunk, and replace the concrete well enough that it won’t draw the eye. It’s dirty, dusty work, but hard labour is something John’s familiar with. He makes a list in his head. Aside from what the movers are bringing, he’ll need more shelves. Maybe another table? And a rug. Can’t hurt to add in a rug. The movers are bringing his books and tools. Helen will like seeing the workspace when it’s ready. He’d promised to let her choose, pick something for them, as the first book he made here.

Oh. Right. The Book.

He waits until the next day, concrete still setting in the basement, before heading into the city. The Stephen A. Schwarzman Building, one of the New York Public Library Research Libraries, is his destination. Years ago, John had refurbished a book of Russian Folk Tales by Aleksandr Afanasyev. It had been badly damaged, which suited his purposes. He’d rebound the volume and hollowed out two-thirds of the pages to create a small book vault. 

Inside are two things.

First, is the last link he has to his childhood if you don’t count the tattoos inked into his skin. The rosary, his Ticket. He hoped he wouldn’t need it, but he’d be a fool not to keep it. The Ruska Roma were all the family he had as a child and, as thin as that bond is now, it still remains. Jardani Jovonovich is one of them.

The second item is a marker he never intends to call in.

He’d last seen the book where he’d left it, replacing the proper version on the shelves in the Schwarzman Building.

Accessing the library is easy. The book is just as it was. John opens it carefully and peels back the illustration to reveal his stash. Still there. He adds a handful of coins, his last, and a photo. It’s in black and white. Helen is laughing, John pressing a kiss to her skin. The items together won’t mean anything to most people and, even to those who know him, there’s nothing that will make any difference. But it’s another bit of safety. Just in case. He presses the seal back into position and returns the book to its place.

John doesn’t linger in the city. There are eyes everywhere and he’s done being a spectacle. His trip back is uneventful. He’s done. Settled. 

And yet… 

John finds himself pacing the grounds, getting a feel for the sloping landscape with its lines of trees. He memorizes the layout of the house, counting out steps, noting sightlines, evaluating how thick the walls are and what calibre might pierce them. 

Christ. He scowls at himself and forces his thoughts elsewhere, tries to imagine the rest of the furniture here. Helen’s minimalist choices would suit the space. And the blankness of the walls and shelves would be soon be adorned with whatever art pieces she preferred. John hopes she hangs the photos from her last show. Helen isn’t overly modest about her art, so it’s a good bet. 

He goes back to the apartment and tries not to overthink things.

John doesn’t go back to the house until he has to let the movers in. Then he stays. The movers put everything in place while he watches and when they’re done John tips them generously. 

Alone in the house, John gets to work. Helen will be back soon, so he knows he should get the bedroom ready. He makes the bed, unpacks the kitchen, buys groceries, and makes what he thinks is a decent attempt at normalcy.

He feels foolish for missing her. It’s only been a couple of weeks.

When the doorbell rings he nearly leaps out of his skin. Damn.

“John Wick?” the man at the door asks.

“Yeah.”

“Sign here.”

John signs. Then he gets a delivery. It’s a car.

Not just any car. A 1969 Ford Mustang, Boss 429 v8, and in perfect condition.

He can’t stop smiling for the rest of the day. Helen loves springing surprises on people, the good kind, fun and light. She’d once told him about a prank she’d organized in high school where she and her friends had replaced every pencil, pen, and piece of chalk they could find with candy lookalikes. Helen had also bought her father a ridiculously paisley-patterned fishing boat that he’d loved until he’d passed. And now John has this gorgeous muscle car on his doorstep.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t know a thing about maintaining it. John makes a call.

“Aurelio speaking.”

“Aurelio, it’s John.”

“John! How are you?”

“I’m good. Listen, I have a car.”

“Yeah? What you got?”

“1969 Mustang. Can you recommend-”

“No, no, no. You bring her here. To me.”

“Aurelio, I’m not-”

“Yeah, I know. Whatever. Just bring her in.”

John does.

Aurelio welcomes him and it’s nice. John likes Aurelio. Always has. He’s honest, shrewd, and loyal. Winston approves of him as well and given his high standards John has never worried about the quality of work.

Aurelio offers him and drink and fusses over his car.

“She just gave you this?” John nods, unable to hold back a smile. Aurelio grins back. “You are a lucky man, my friend.”

“I know.”

Aurelio pops the hood and peers inside with a practiced eye, “Well, looks like whoever had her beforehand was good to her. She’s been treated like a lady.” He goes on a bit, popping under the car briefly, commenting on the engine and other parts John is woefully ignorant about. Mostly he nods and sips at his tequila.

“I don’t want to hear that you let some pathetic excuse of a mechanic put their grubby hands on her for maintenance,” Aurelio rounds on John after closing the hood. “Bring her here and the boys’ll treat her right. And if you have any problems, you call me. Okay?”

“Sure.” Sounds good to him. “What do I owe you?”

“Nothing. But if you ever need parts for this beauty, I’ll let you know.”

They shake hands and John leaves with a lightness in his step. As he gets into his car, his phone vibrates.

Helen: Did you like your surprise?

John: Yes.

He stares at his reply, unsure of what words to use.

Helen texts him a smiling emoji, followed by one rolling its eyes. She’s used to his lack of texting skills.

Helen: I have another one for you.

A photo pops up. It’s a selfie of Helen at a baggage carousel. She’s back early.

Helen: Think you could give a girl a ride?

John: On my way

He pauses, then adds a heart emoji before tossing his phone onto the passenger seat. John peels out of the lot and wonders just how fast he can push the car without getting pulled over.

Time to find out.


End file.
